The Sins of the Unworthy
by TheAnarchistEire
Summary: The mysterious and deadly assassin known only as The Shadow would do anything to leave his old life behind and begin anew, including the murder of a very prominent member of Skyrim's upper class. However, things are not always as they seem, and betrayal sets The Shadow on a path of revenge. But will this revenge lead to the retribution or destruction of the young Dunmer?


The Sins of the Unworthy

Chapter One – Blood and Fear

"I'd be a lot warmer and a lot happier with a belly full of mead…" grumbled the guard to himself as he patrolled the deserted streets of Solitude. His torch illuminated the frost that adorned the small trees flanking the path to the Blue Palace, causing them to twinkle like miniature galaxies as he passed. He didn't even notice when the torchlight reflected over the blood red eyes of the elf hiding in the shadows, clutching two daggers. Both of them were incredible feats of smithing. Identical in every aspect, from their oval hilts to the pulsing red lines that indicated the Demora blood infused into their very being. A scarlet and purple sheen ran through the daggers every few seconds, a product of their owner spending hours slaving over an enchanting table, and countless failed attempts at creating an extremely elusive combination of enchantments. Their serrated edges were razor sharp. The elf was taking no chances. He had every last detail of his plan committed to memory, and he had been practicing for weeks to ensure he would not fail.

At that moment a thick cloud passed lazily in front of the moons, plunging the sleeping city into almost complete darkness. A strong gust of wind later and the guard's torch was extinguished. Cursing, he knelt down and attempted to relight it with his flint and steel. The Dunmer issued a quick prayer:

"Mistress of the Night, I thank you for the assistance. Know that I take no joy in what I do tonight, Nocturnal. I am unworthy, and my sins must be baptized in blood and fear before I can begin anew."

The guard finally succeeded in relighting his torch and straightened up to find himself staring at what appeared to be a shadow. But this shadow had dazzling crimson eyes, and arms that held two very sharp daggers. He didn't even have time to shout a warning before the shadow moved faster than his eyes could follow. He didn't feel any pain, but he felt his tunic become wet and heavy, while he heard the pitter-patter of drops of liquid hitting the ground. His eyes widened in shock. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a faint gurgling noise.

The elf turned away as the man fell to his knees, clutching his throat and gurgling incoherently. He took no pleasure in watching his victims in their last moments of life. He knew most paid assassins would, but he was not one of them. Seeing the light behind their eyes go out brought him no joy, only disgust. When he heard the man stop thrashing he turned and lifted his still warm body. A purple essence flowed from the man into one of the black soul gems that the Dunmer had on his person at all times. He shivered with revulsion when he realised that not all of the wetness was caused by blood. The stench of excrement would attract attention even if the body was hidden, as would the pool of blood, but it was better than leaving the body in the open, where it would be easily spotted from a distance. The elf picked up the torch and blew it out, tossing it into the bushes along with the body of its owner. He waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before sneaking up to the courtyard of the Palace. It was abandoned and he quickly made his way to the door, pressing his ear against it. There seemed to be some sort of disturbance going on inside.

The guard inside the door of the Blue Palace stood in the archway leading to the kitchen, talking to the chef.

"Come on, just a bowl of stew to keep me going through the night, I haven't eaten since midday…" he complained.

The chef grunted before crossing the room to where the cauldron sat, bubbling on the fire. He grabbed a ladle and filled a wooden bowl with rabbit stew. The elf sensed his opportunity and darted to the right, hiding behind one of the pillars. The guard returned to his post after thanking the chef and wishing him a good night's sleep, savouring his late-night meal. The Dunmer took a useless fragment of a soul gem and lobbed it around the corner of the pillar, towards the door to the Pelagius wing of the castle. The guard looked up from his meal for a moment before muttering something about Skeevers. The elf frowned and tossed another fragment, larger this time. Finally the guard placed his bowl on the ledge next to him and grunted as he pushed away from the wall. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he rounded the corner to find the alcove empty.

The young assassin darted forward, covering the guard's mouth with one hand and sliding one of the daggers between the man's ribs, puncturing a lung. A layer of ice spread outwards from the wound, and the assassin pulled the knife from the gash before it became trapped. The ice spread over the man's body, turning him a white-blue colour. The elf carefully lowered the newly created ice sculpture to the ground, wary of causing the ice to crack. He pulled a white vial from a holster on his waist and opened it, draining the contents. He turned the corner and walked past the guard at the base of the staircase. He didn't bat an eyelid. Moving quickly, before the invisibility potion wore off, he located the Jarl's bedchambers and swiftly slipped into the room. He slowly walked towards the bed, where a sleeping figure lay. The elf crept over to the bedside and stared at Jarl Elisif's sleeping form.

"I am truly sorry, but this has to be done." He whispered, before raising the twin daggers and plunging them into her chest. He felt the hilts heat up as flames spread across the dead Jarl's body, igniting the bed sheets.

He removed the daggers and stood there forlornly, watching the flames consume the body.

"I know it was an imposter," he said to no one in particular. "I would suggest that you go into hiding and pretend that you perished instead of that poor serving girl."

Jarl Elisif entered the room, flanked by two guards. She coughed from the smoke before speaking. "And why would that be?"

The elf chuckled drily. "Because someone wants you dead."

"I noticed that fact," retorted Elisif, "But who?"

"The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen. She wishes to place someone she can influence in your position."

Elisif looked horrified. "And you agreed to help? Why?"

The elf remained silent. Flames curled around the entire bed now, and the room was quickly filling with smoke. Between coughs Elisif asked:

"Who are you?"

The elf finally raised his eyes and looked at her.

"I am The Shadow," he whispered, before turning and jumping out of the window next to the bed. The guards made to move towards the window, but the heavy flames barred their path.

"No, leave him," commanded Elisif.

"But my lady, he was going to kill you!" protested one of the guards.

Elisif thought for a moment. "I am not sure he was. If he wanted me dead he would not have warned me to hide. Prepare my horse for riding, and gather together what provisions you can on short notice. I want my husband's sword sharpened and his bow made taught. Waken Bolgeir, tell him we ride at dawn."


End file.
